Behave Yourselves
by kissedagirlandilikedit
Summary: The L Word crossover! Maura runs into an old friend from boarding school, Shane runs into the love of her life on the other side of the country, and the rest is history. The ladies of Los Angeles overrun Boston, and the result is some matchmaking, some scheming, and a lot of romantic chaos. Main pairings will be Rizzles and Sharmen. My version of a summer beach read, so enjoy ;


**Author's Note: This is my version of writing guilty pleasure fic. I am a not-so-closeted The L Word fan and obviously a fan of R & I, and figured the two needed to crossover a little...kidding, they need to crossover A LOT. In terms of TLWverse, this takes place about five years after a version of the final season where Shenny did NOT happen. The main pairings I'll be focusing on are Sharmen and obviously Rizzles, and there will be matchmaking and scheming and fluffy shit that I usually don't write but I will just because I love you that much. :) Happy summer, dudes. And don't forget to review, just so I know you're reading, heh.**

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Jane's never been a big reader. She has a few titles she throws around in conversation, just in case everyone is still too sober to move on from intelligent topics to the shit she can actually cash in on, sports or cars or whatever the loudest drunk guy keeps talking about. Most of the time, no one ever bothers to ask what The Grapes of Wrath was about, or if she'd recommend The Illiad, which are titles she vaguely remembers from high school English class and pulls out when someone asks her if she's read anything lately.

She tried this tactic on Maura one of the first times they ever drank together, and it backfired brilliantly. Just absolutely brilliantly.

Maura had tilted her head in the dim light of the bar, her eyes narrowing in a way that Jane thought was just a little bit adorable. "Anna Karenina? That's surprising."

Jane had been halfway through her third beer and walked right into it. Fools rush in, isn't that what they say? "Yeah, why is it surprising?"

"You don't strike me as a Tolstoy aficionado. Russian literature is a particular vintage, and it attracts a particular breed as well. Maybe I'm assuming too much, but...I never thought you'd have read Tolstoy, or even would consider it your favorite work of literature."

"Psh, I like Toy Story."

Maura laughed into her drink, that laugh that still makes Jane's ribcage hum like a jackhammer. "You mean Tolstoy."

"Yeah, whatever, that's who I meant. Just because I can't pronounce his name doesn't mean I can't read his books."

"What did you think of the characterization of Anna?"

Jane finished the beer in a single swig, buying time. "It was...good. Yeah. She was really, uh...deep."

"And the ending?"

"I was rooting for her to get with Jacob, but she and Edward were set up from the beginning, so yeah. What are you gonna do, you know."

Maura raised an eyebrow, but her smile had remained charming as ever. "You didn't read it, did you?"

"Nope, I definitely did not read it."

From then on, Maura has stopped asking Jane what she was reading, and Jane has stopped trying to impress Maura when drinking. Well, almost. She will admit to the occasional "feel how firm my triceps are getting" ploy, but that's only when she's really wasted. Really.

So now, Maura is watching Jane read her book with all the careful inquisition of a scientist about to discover the gay gene. They are on a plane to Aruba in fulfillment of the three day vacation Jane won via radio contest - "this is a totally awesome deal and I totally don't care if you have plans because you're totally coming with me" - and despite the incredibly high odds stacked against her, Jane is genuinely and deeply enjoying a book. Maura's definitely attempting to just sip her airplane cocktail, or page through her copies of InStyle and Vogue and pretend to be absorbed in the season's sunwear trends, but Jane can feel her eyes returning to her again and again, and she grins in spite of herself.

"Are you staring at me, Dr. Isles?"

"What? No." Maura attempts to recover, shuffling her magazines. "I'm trying to get the flight attendant's attention, see if they have any real glasses. Plastic takes all the taste out of vodka. This is barely palatable anymore."

Jane snorts, looks back at her book. "Whatever you say, darlin'."

"I just...well, I suppose I'm confused. I thought you hated reading, and yet here you are. You've been in that book for the last hour of the flight."

Jane makes a face. "Okay, well, I don't straight up _hate_ it. Hate is a very strong word. Besides," Jane flips the book over, slides it towards Maura's lap. "It's not Tolstoy maybe, but it's not Twilight either."

Maura glances down at the book, her look of confusion now deepening to true and utter bewilderment. "You're reading Virginia Woolf?"

"I thought it was actually about a lighthouse. You know, a beach read? I figured there'd be hot lifeguards banging in the sand or something. Turns out they are not actually going "to the lighthouse," they're just sort of having all these emotional crises in their heads about it. The lighthouse is a symbol for what they desire but can never reach, or like...I don't entirely know. Anyway, yeah. I'm reading Virginia Woolf, which apparently is spooky to you."

"It's just..." A small smile is on the edge of Maura's lips. "It's unexpected, that's all. Am I in for any other surprises this weekend?"

Jane raises an eyebrow. "Define surprises."

"I don't know. Any other things I don't know about you? Hidden interests, shocking talents?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but. Truth is, I'm actually a high class prostitute who is being paid by the feds to court you and steal your medical secrets."

Maura winks, finishes the drink. "Spy slash prostitute? I can handle that."

"We'll see about that, Dr. Isles."

They go back to their reading, and the flight goes pretty much as planned, with the exception of Maura eventually falling asleep on Jane's shoulder. But Jane has been trained to prepare for the unexpected, so she lets Maura nuzzle her in her sleep, and goes back to her reading, pretends this is not the slightest bit butterfly-inducing. _What would Virginia do, _she thinks, and then realizes Virginia would probably not give in to desire because she'd rather be a shriveled up sad person writing about lighthouses that might actually be metaphors.

Writers are crazy, she decides, and then falls asleep herself.

**&&&&&L&&&&&**

The resort is the kind of crazy nice that Jane feels guilty about staying in. As in, she's guilty about sleeping in the sheets, guilty about moving the towels, and guilty that she can step out her back door and onto a perfectly white beach. Maura throws a pillow at her and tells her to stop being so morbidly Catholic.

"Maybe I should call the radio station up, because they definitely made a mistake. It's actually too nice for me, I'm serious."

"Do you want me to give you the odds of your winning that contest? I could calculate them for you if it makes you feel any better, or at least more deserving." Maura is removing her shirt and Jane is averting her eyes in the most subtle way possible, pretending that her pulse did not just shoot up. Maura must have changed at some point, because her bikini top is on beneath her shirt and, Jane has noticed, is on point. Emerald green with gold accent is really truly her color scheme.

"I'm swimming before dinner." Maura says, and nods toward the water in a gesture that can only be invitation. She gives Jane an expectant look.

"Yeah, I'm gonna, uh...I think I should probably give my mom a call first. Let her know we got here in one piece. You go test the water, make sure there's no sharks or anything."

Maura rolls her eyes, and the skirt comes off as well. Jane reaches for the phone and frantically dials. "Jane, there aren't sharks this close to the shore. A man-eating species would not survive in levels this shallow. Goodness, everyone knows that."

And with that, she is out the sliding glass door and onto the beach. Jane bites her finger and bides her time.

At dinner, Maura's in an outfit that should probably be illegal, and maybe is in these parts (Aruba's another country, right? Yep, right, way to pay attention in geography, twelve year old Jane...) and Jane's way too excited that part of their vacation is having all the meals at the resort paid for. And this isn't some hotel bar kind of situation. This is a restaurant perched on the edge of the sand with what Maura considers "exquisite" food that Jane's not entirely sure how to eat. An entire paycheck would probably cover the appetizer and the appetizer only.

Everything would be pretty much perfect if Maura weren't staring over her shoulder the entire meal.

"Hey," Jane gives Maura a gently kick under the table. "What is going on with you?"

"I know that woman back there."

"What woman?" But it's pretty obvious what woman Maura is referring to. The brunette at the table by the window is stunning, and hard to miss. She's in a white pantsuit that screams I Don't Even Need To Be A Trophy Wife. When she glances at their table, her eyes suddenly widen in recognition, and her smile is even whiter than the suit. Jane quickly finds herself fascinated in her drink, but Maura is grinning like a schoolgirl (which should have been Jane's tip-off). The brunette makes her way over to the table, cocktail in hand. She wraps Maura in a tight embrace, and then reveals a British accent.

"Maura Isles. It has been far too long. And how do you look even better than you did as a teenager? Christ, you're gorgeous."

"Jane," Maura turns back to her other and more familiar brunette, grinning like a kid with first prize. "This is Helena Peabody. We went to school together."

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End file.
